


Harmlesss Overtures

by foreverdistracted



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Jealousy, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-07
Updated: 2015-11-07
Packaged: 2018-04-30 11:07:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,549
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5161478
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/foreverdistracted/pseuds/foreverdistracted
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dwalin receives the attentions of a comely lass in Lake-town, and Thorin has a thing or two to say about it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Harmlesss Overtures

**Author's Note:**

> Written for this prompt in the Hobbit Meme: _Dwalin has to grit his teeth and control his temper while they're guests in Lake-town, because the line of Durin was predictably being swarmed by admirers again. He refuses to let the lads be his problem (maybe Balin sprays them with water whenever things get too far or something), but the eldest of the line really should know better._
> 
> _Bonuses:_  
>  +100 if this was already a problem way back in Ered Luin (and also maybe before the Sack of Erebor, if Authornon chooses)  
> +100 if this was less of a problem in Rivendell, because while Thorin had Elven admirers, "EEEELLLLVVVESSSSS!"  
> +100 if Thorin knows it makes Dwalin jealous, but playfully uses other people's attention on him to tease the other dwarf  
> +100 if Dwalin gets an admirer or two of his own and Thorin's a big old hypocrite 

"We're dry, we're fed, we're sheltered. We're not being chased by a pack of Orcs. Civilised folk are actually _talking_ to us instead of yelling and trying to throw us out." Bilbo sheepishly ducked his head when Bofur threw him a teasing look. "And on the morrow, we set out for the Lonely Mountain. Now tell me," he continued, returning his attention to Dwalin, "why do you look like you've just swallowed an unripe, juicy, peeled lemon?"

When all Dwalin could manage was a cross between a growl and a hissed "Mind your own business" through clenched teeth, Bofur gestured at the widespread double doors with the stem of his smoking pipe. "Wouldn't happen to have anything to do with our lord and leader holding court just beyond the garden?"

"Holding court" was putting it kindly. Thorin was doing nothing but sitting on a bench, smoking pipe in hand, while being fawned upon by Men folk of all sizes and ages. At the moment, he was letting some noisy large man with one of those ridiculous pompous hats and red capes from the Master of Lake-town's armoury jabber on about some fierce battle or other. Imagined, Dwalin suspected, and liberally embellished. Thorin looked to be half-listening, an indulgent curve to his lips - not quite a smile, but not frowning either.

Beside him, a blushing maiden with a handful of tiny, vibrant, blue-and-white blossoms bent at the waist to shyly whisper something in his ear. After a moment, Thorin inclined his head. With a pleased smile, and an adoring glint in her eye, she settled beside him on the wooden bench. The flowers tumbled onto her lap, and, carefully, she began threading one after another through the wavy strands of his hair.

They weren't the full, open blossoms littering the roads between the Blue Mountains and the Shire - rather limp and sad-looking things, really. It was a surprise such things even grew in Lake-town. And while Dwalin could grouse as much as he wanted about the state of the flowers, it was hard to fault how well their colours suited his friend and king.

_"Harmless overtures,"_ Thorin had told him once, decades ago, when he had returned from the afternoon's bartering with glinting adornments in his hair and a patterned shawl around his neck. _"And I paid for the shawl, Dis's is beyond repair. You need not look so cross."_

"Saw the young 'uns drag Fili and Kili an hour ago," Bofur observed. "Probably up to no good by now."

"Balin's watching them," Dwalin muttered. 

Bofur released a drawn-out "ooh" that played a little melody on Dwalin's nerves. "Happen a lot in Erebor too, I take it? This sort of thing?"

That drew out a soft snort from Dwalin. In Erebor, Thorin had been a quiet youth with bland features and enough tasks on hand to keep him away from such attention. No, Thorin had acquired his taste for indulging such silliness in Ered Luin, when the lack of possessions and power had made him realize that people did not willingly shower him with their regard out of a desire to elevate themselves. 

And how the blandness had washed away as the years piled on. It seemed as if Thorin grew more and more attractive the less Dwalin saw him and the older they both got.

To Bofur's question, he spat out a curt "No."

"Snippy tonight, are we?" He suffered through a laugh and an unwelcome pat on the arm. After snuffing out his pipe and tapping the burnt leaves onto the hall's stained floor, Bofur rose and ambled towards the ale barrels. "A drink'll loosen you up. I'll grab us both a pint."

He wasn't in the mood for Bofur's relentless cheer at the moment, so he stood and briskly made his way through the doors and out into the sparse garden. A healthy distance was maintained between himself and the group of admirers - he could barely see Thorin's head past the throng now, only managing the briefest of glimpses of his flower-adorned black hair. A woman's voice asked a question he couldn't make out, but whatever it was resulted in laughter from the group, underscored with Thorin's deep, quiet chuckle.

After a bit of surveying, he settled into a secluded corner with a lit sconce and the soothing sounds of a small fountain blocking the chatter drifting from nearby. He took out his sharpening stone and set to work on the axe he'd picked out from the Master's armoury - the weapon might be too large and held many hallmarks of an ill-forged thing, but confound it if he'd ever let himself be caught in a battle without a sharp edge for company. 

"I would have you keep your silence this once, brother," Balin had said earlier, before he left in pursuit of the vanished brothers. 

"'This once'," Dwalin had replied in a mocking voice. "I don't bother him when he's like this."

"You've made your displeasure known in other ways." 

Balin had no doubt been referring to that single incident in Ered Luin when he'd taken a swig or two of strong ale and the fawning had felt too pronounced for his liking. He'd stomped up to Thorin and demanded a spar - no it cannot wait, yes it must be right now, or are you too pampered these days that you must delay, and so on - completely forgetting that Dis had gathered all of their weapons for honing while they were both home anyway. He'd spent the afternoon searching (unsuccessfully) for suitable sparring weapons to save face, accompanied by Thorin and his bewildered glances. Thorin had merely looked confused and thankfully chalked that up to liquor, but Balin, of course, had known better.

His brother had chuckled at the unhappy grumble he'd issued in lieu of a reply.

"We've quite the task ahead of us come sun-up. This seems to be relaxing him - it would not do to have him brooding more than he has to."

_Well_ , Dwalin thought, as he slid the sharpening stone smoothly across the bladed edge, _if we're all to die tomorrow, I'll not be the cause of him losing his cheer tonight. ___

__"Excuse me...?"_ _

__Dwalin let the slow, smooth stroke of the stone across his axe finish its journey before he looked up. It was a young maiden, barely into adulthood from the looks of her. The clothes she wore held the same dullness as the rest of the town, but she had a full head of red hair, fashionably curled at the ends, with eyes a brilliant shade of green. In her hands, she carried a large pint of the frothy ale that they'd been served earlier at dinner._ _

__Dwalin raised an eyebrow at her. She smiled and dipped her head, a rosy flush blooming on her cheeks. "I was told you were in need of this and volunteered to deliver it myself."_ _

__At least it wasn't Bofur. He tilted his head towards the empty space on the stone bench. "Ye can just leave it here."_ _

__She hesitated before carefully setting down the full mug on the spot he'd indicated. After a moment of them just staring at each other, she said, "Might I also stay a while...? I thought you looked quite dashing when I first saw you being brought before the Master's house, and I was hoping to meet your acquaintance."_ _

__Dwalin frowned in recollection - he'd little remembrance of how he'd looked, only that he had felt utterly damp and miserable. He'd also been in his smallclothes. "Ye've an odd idea of 'dashing', lass." He sighed and put away his stone. The axe, he anchored head-first into the mossy ground. "What do ye want?"_ _

__"Oh, just to talk. You look quite the strong warrior." At this, her eyes seemed to travel across his arms. The garments supplied by the Master might have been garish and dry, but they were still built for Men - they felt far too long and large around his torso, while the sleeves felt entirely too tight. There were places where the rise of his muscles uncomfortably strained the fabric. "Could you tell me of your journey here? I hear you have fought against some terrible foes!"_ _

__Dwalin chuckled. Perhaps this one had Dwarven sensibilities - Men folk often confused him, and he'd learnt the hard way it was best to keep them at arm's length, though her hair and the way she carried herself reminded him keenly of some of the Dwarven lasses he'd befriended in Ered Luin. "I s'ppose I can spare a moment or two," he said, picking up the pint and gesturing for her to sit beside him._ _

__One or two moments became a full hour, then another. He had a rapt audience with the young lady (whose name, he discovered, was Birna), and it had been quite a while since he'd had the full attention of a friendly face. Stories of battles and fierce wars turned to lighter subjects, and he found himself divulging entertaining tales from his travels as a wandering tradesman. His laughter joined hers. Eventually, he began teaching her the proper ways to sharpen a dull, mishandled blade with the axe in hand and his sharpening stone._ _

__"A file's better, but in a jiffy, this works just as well," he muttered, as he guided her hand and stone across the edge. "Stones are good for honing, if ye've a choice between the two."_ _

__"We use a grinder at home," she said, her voice pitched low and sounding a little breathless. The small flush on her cheeks had grown as soon as he'd taken her hand, he noted with amusement. Such a strange lass, to be so affected by the sharpening of a blade. "No wonder our axes never last long."_ _

__"Aye. Grinders, they're best for when there's barely a sharp edge." He drew her hand back to start the stroke from the bottom-up again. "Not so bad if ye can keep an eye on the temper. It gets too hot, ye'll need to douse -"_ _

__"I think that axe is as sharp as it's going to get."_ _

__He felt the girl startle at the new voice. He looked up sharply, more from Thorin's tone than from surprise. There was an edge there, one that Thorin rarely used - the last time he heard it was a few months ago when, half-bewitched and angry, he'd warned the company that they were being watched. To Dwalin, it had always meant "danger"._ _

__"What is it?" he asked, his grip on the axe shifting from head to haft. "Thorin?"_ _

__But his inquiry went ignored, as Thorin's attention never strayed from Birna. The poor girl fidgeted under the weight of his gaze._ _

__Dwalin's lips curved in a puzzled frown._ _

__"The night deepens," Thorin said to her. "Should you not be returning to your parents?"_ _

__"Oh...yes, but..." she rose gingerly, looking torn between having to go and wanting to stay._ _

__Aware of the hour and the odd stories he'd heard from Men folk here and there, Dwalin lightly touched her elbow and said, "D'ye live far and need an escort, lass?"_ _

__Eagerness flashed in her eyes, but any answer she might have given was interrupted when Thorin released a soft snort. "The town is the size of a puddle in the middle of a vast lake. I'm sure she can find her own way."_ _

__Having no other course but to take her leave, she did so with a fond, parting glance at Dwalin and a much more dour one aimed at his friend. When Dwalin could no longer hear her footsteps, he raised an eyebrow at Thorin. "Any reason ye chased off the first friendly conversation I've had in Durin knows how long?"_ _

__Thorin leaned against the wall in front of Dwalin and crossed his arms over his chest. He looked both resentful and unhappy - not even the flowers so artfully entangled in his hair could soften that expression. "We're to set foot in the halls of our fathers on the morrow, and I find you here _dallying_."_ _

__Dwalin's brows knit, the worry simmering beneath his skin giving way to anger. He'd been half-convinced that one of theirs had got attacked or something equally grave. Now he was just offended. "Now, see here -"_ _

__"Not to mention the fire-breathing dragon sitting atop our ancient treasures."_ _

__"I was just showing her -"_ _

__"I could see exactly what you were showing her. This is neither the time nor the place -"_ _

__"Thorin." Dwalin took a deep breath. When he was sure Thorin wasn't about to interrupt again, he said, in the manner his mother often did to his father during his youth, "I'm going to walk away in ten seconds unless ye stop being a right arse t'me in five."_ _

__Thorin had been about to say something mid-sentence, but snapped his mouth shut by the time Dwalin had finished. Some of the darkness from his expression vanished when he tilted his head curiously. "I don't think I've ever heard that from you before."_ _

__"Never had cause to say it before." He sighed and tucked away his sharpening stone. "What brought this on? Ye were laughing just an hour ago."_ _

__"Nothing." At the unconvinced expression Dwalin wore, Thorin muttered, "I couldn't find you and worried. That's all. This is a strange place, and I don't trust these Men."_ _

__"Ye got worried." Thorin gave a curt nod, which Dwalin scoffed at. "That's horse shit."_ _

__His friend looked rebellious, but didn't say anything else._ _

__"Ye know I'm committed to this quest, aye?"_ _

__Thorin's eyes widened a bit. He looked abashed, which did more to calm Dwalin's nerves than anything he's said tonight. "Of course, I didn't - I will never doubt that."_ _

__"Good. So're ye gonna let me know why ye're angry, or do I have to beat it out o' ye?"_ _

__There was no immediate reply. Finding the whole thing odd and uncomfortable, Dwalin hefted his axe over his shoulder and started to make his way through the dimly-lit garden hedges. "If ye don't want to tell me, fine. But leave the townsfolk out of it, will ye?"_ _

__Despite having willingly abandoned that conversation, it stayed rooted in his mind for the duration of the night and refused to let him have a restful sleep. When morning came, he woke to the worried expression of his brother, who wished to know if anything happened while he was gone that could have caused Thorin's mood to sour so._ _

__Choosing to ignore the unspoken implication that whatever could have happened was probably _Dwalin's_ fault, he roughly recounted as best he could the strange conversation he had with Thorin last night. Before he'd even finished the tale, however, Balin was already chuckling and shaking his head._ _

__"You're both thick as a log, is what," Balin said in reply to Dwalin's terse inquiry. "You sure he didn't want to spend the rest of the night looking for sparring weapons?"_ _

__Dwalin frowned. All of a sudden, it seemed people were determined to speak in riddles. "No. Why would he -"_ _

__Balin rose from his seat and patted his arm in a consoling manner. "Never you mind, brother mine. I've half a mind to knock your heads together, but that will have to wait. We've a mountain to reclaim t'day."_ _

__End_ _


End file.
